


Honey Inside Your Hive

by crowbarwolf



Category: DOGS (Manga)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowbarwolf/pseuds/crowbarwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Magazines are expensive," Heine says. "I'm not wasting mine just because you're stupid enough to spend all your money on cigarettes."</p>
<p>"You'll do it anyway," Badou points out, nudging at the dead body with the tip of his boots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey Inside Your Hive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaara/gifts).



> I CAN'T BELIEVE I WROTE THISSSS it's so long and it doesn't even have sex in it and i'm blaming the existence of this fic entirely on the lovely thirteenths on tumblr. YOUR CHATTER INSPIRES ME AND DEAR DEAR GOD HELP THESE 2 ARE PLAGUING MY MIND. Also: this hasn't been beta'd so feel free to tell me if there's any mistake.

Heine doesn't like to be touched.

That, for every party involved, is a well-known fact. It also serves as a rule within their small community guns-wielding brokers or - as the Bishop had so colourfully called them - servants of the Lord. Most people simply label them as 'murderers by trade'.

Case in point: Heine loathes to be touched, looked at, or talked to if he's not in the mood - which, really, is every single second of every day.

For example, yesterday, a little boy accidentally bumped against his hip while he was chasing a stray down the street, and Heine nearly ripped his head off if Badou hadn't been there to drag him away.

So when Badou suddenly has his fingers curled around Heine's wrist during one of their less murderous cases and Heine barely reacts - simply follows as Badou tugs him along one alleyway to another - it's no wonder that Kerberos' interest is piqued.

_You've gotten weaker,_ Kerberos tells him, its voice a distant thunderous rumble that echoes through Heine's mind. Heine can feel a headache starting to form, and he knows he won't be sleeping much tonight.

Next to him, Badou skids to a halt and plasters on his best smile. It makes him look like an idiotic overgrown child, trying to bullshit his way into the building where their target's meeting is held place.

He hasn't let go of Heine's wrist.

Impatient and a little bit pissed off - the dog is laughing in his head, now, since, presently, all Heine can feel and think of is the heat of Badou's skin on his, Badou's thumb rubbing in circular motion against his pulse - Heine grips the handle of his Luger, points, and shoots.

The bouncer's takes one last breath, eyes widening in shock, then slumps against the wall, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Badou stares at him incredulously. His fingers tighten around Heine's wrist.

"You couldn't have done that much sooner?" he asks, and Heine clicks his tongue and tugs his hand away from Badou's grip.

"Magazines are expensive," Heine says. "I'm not wasting mine just because you're stupid enough to spend all your money on cigarettes."

"You'll do it anyway," Badou points out, nudging at the dead body with the tip of his boots.

At this, Kerberos laughs, loud and mocking in obvious distaste.

_Pathetic,_ it says, and Heine barges in, guns blazing, to prove that he's not.

-

There are other moments, other circumstances, such as this:

When Badou's spent his last pack of cigarette for the day and he's scrambling to catch up with Heine, begging to borrow his money and pulling at the edge of Heine's long sleeves.

More often than not, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of Heine's wrist, barely covered by the black leather gloves, until Heine gives up then buys him the fucking pack.

It's - disturbing, to say the least. Disturbing because Heine does not find Badou's presence in his personal space as repulsive as he thought it would be.

Worse, it's as if his body is adapting quite well to Badou's absentminded touches that he's no longer annoyed when Badou leans too close to read something over his shoulder; no longer flinches when Badou pats his back or touches his arm.

Although he _does_ draw a line when Badou's hand travels too close to his scar, once, after some fuckwit's bullet grazed the side of his neck, and the asshole had leaned in close and said that he wanted to fucking watch the regeneration process or some shit.

Heine wonders what that says about him.

( _Sentiment,_ Kerberos purrs, a whisper in the dark. _How cute, Master_.)

Possibly nothing good.

-

Most of their cases often end in a massacre.

It is a fact universally known every time a member of the underworld mentions 'White Hair and Eyepatch', and Heine accepts this fact as one of the few things he accepts in life.

Badou, however, does not.

"I'd like to think myself as a lover of peace. A fighter of liberty. _Es lebe die Freihet_!" then, he adds, in an atrocious French accent, " _Viva la Liberté_!"

Heine levels him with a look. "Why don't you tell that to all the fuckers you've shot today."

Badou shrugs, climbing up the stairs to Heine's flat, ignoring the gasps of people around them at the sight of their blood-stained clothes.

Usually, Badou will give them the finger or cuss at them for even looking. Tonight, Badou simply goes on his way, happily poisoning his body with nicotine through every breath he takes. Heine almost doesn't have the heart to tell him to put it out.

"If you don't throw that away in the next thirty seconds, I'm shooting your sorry ass seven ways to Sunday." _Almost_ being the key word, here. 

"Such a romantic," drawls Badou dryly. He puts it out and crushes it beneath the soles of his boots. Heine frowns.

"You're not lighting another until you leave." Heine tells him.

"Yessir, yessir," Badou says with a salute. Heine pauses on his track to frown at him, but Badou's placing a hand on the small of his back, urging him forward. "Come on, come on, I need to wash this shit off me. I've got work tomorrow and this is my only jacket."

"It won't be if you hadn't wasted all your money on those," Heine says, gesturing at the brand new packs of smokes Badou's got in the pockets of his jacket.

"And what, deprive me of my nicotine intake? Have mercy, Heine-kun, even you are not that cruel," Badou deadpans, and Heine punches his shoulder so hard it nearly gets dislocated.

-

Heine takes the first shower - it's his flat, after all, his rules - while Badou goes off somewhere to wash the grime off his jacket. The water is scalding hot. Badou is going to throw a hissy fit over this.

No one in the neighborhood knows Heine that well, so he's a little bit surprised when he comes out forty-five minutes later to Badou, naked save for his jeans, drying his jacket in front of the heater in his bedroom.

"Damn, you have an actual working, functional heater and you've never told me? I'm so jealous right now I'd kill you in a heartbeat," Badou says.

"Not if I shoot you first, fuckface," Heine says. He doesn't bother putting his clothes on and makes himself comfortable on his bed.

Badou makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. "God, just because it's your place, at least have the decency to put on some clothes, asshole."

"My place, my rules. Shut up and go shower, you reek." Heine grunts, before promptly falling to sleep.

-

In the morning, Heine wakes up to Badou smoking next to him on the bed.

After delivering a swift punch to the jaw that sends Badou flying out of the bed, Heine snarls at him. "You fucking _fuck_ , I told you not to light a fag in my room, now the place is going to reek of your stupidity."

"Ow bloody _ow_ , can you not be such a drama queen in the morning? I just chewed my fucking cheek off you bastard!"

Heine stretches, ignoring the stream of filth pouring out of Badou's bloody lips as he pads toward the bathroom.

Morning showers always wake him much better than caffeine - though, this time, it's Badou's smoking that does the job.

There is a loud crash coming from the direction of his bedroom. Heine opts to keep his temper in check. Badou knows better than anyone that if he dares to break any of Heine's shit, he'd be on a warpath that will definitely involve castration and bare-handed decapitation. He's not cruel enough to take Badou's sight away. Possibly.

As Badou's cussing gets louder, Heine arranges water until it's pouring like storm's about to go down, as hot as it can possibly get.

But then the door to the bathroom slides open - and yes, he really is cruel enough to take Badou's sight away.

"Fuckity fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Heine, shit, sorry, I've got work in half an hour and I _really_ need to take a shower -"

"Get. _Out_." Heine hisses, voice dangerously low.

"No, just -"

" _Get the fuck out_!" he roars, the last thread of his patience gone, and Badou -

Heine isn't sure how, but Badou - the fucking bloody ass buggering _idiot_ \- stumbles and staggers like a fucking drunkard and crashing into Heine's form.

The back of Heine's head hits the tiled wall. His lips are bleeding from the impact of Badou's teeth. Badou's hands land on his shoulders, nails digging into the tense muscles as he tries to keep their balance.

Heine makes the mistake of shoving him away, because Badou's going down and he's pulling Heine down with him, and it's only his last shred of humanity that moves both of his hands to save Badou from permanent brain damage.

His knuckles crack and move beneath his skin, the bones shifting painfully as blood trickles down to the floor, staining the water red. Badou is swearing against his cheek.

"Shit, fuck, Heine, stupid _fuck_ , don't be dead, getting rid of your body is going to be a _bitch_ , that perverted Priest is going to _burn_ me alive, fuck."

"Ugh," comes Heine's eloquent reply.

Immortality ensures that Heine's concussion is gone within minutes and his fingers returned to their original state not long after. Heine can see Badou watching in horror mixed with fascination as his skin stitches itself back together from the corner of his eyes.

Pursing his lips, Heine says, "I'm not budging," and Badou snorts.

"Yeah, like hell you are. Guess you'll have to bear with me then. 'S not like I'm going to be long or anything."

And he's not.

It doesn't even take longer than ten minutes before Badou is out of his place, swearing about being late, the more he talks the further away he sounds. Heine doesn't even know why he's making such a big fuss over it in the first place - perhaps it's Kerberos' instincts that took over, its unwillingness to let a stranger step a foot inside its territory.

Sighing, Heine leans his forehead against the wall, letting the water wash the blood off his hair.

The water is red, pooling around his feet.

Kerberos howls.

Heine closes his eyes and breathes.

-

Eleven hours later, Badou calls him for a case.

It's a quick case, he'd said. Heine had been skeptical, but money is money, so he put on his gears and went.

When Heine arrives at the supposedly peaceful scene, the place is a fucking war zone, AK-47s open firing like it's going out of style.

Heine is considering the pros and cons of walking out when Badou pops up behind one of the flipped tables on the other side of the room, waving at him excitedly. "Heine-kun! A little help here!"

And there goes his chance.

Fucking retard.

-

At the end of the night, Heine is retching three dozens of bullets out of his bowls, and Badou's got a bullet lodged under his right collarbone.

Surrounding them is an entire family of Irish mafia, dead with bullets between their eyes or stuck somewhere down his throat. Heine isn't sure how much of them were his, but the ones with their limbs torn off; those are definitely his doing.

He stands over Badou's pale form, watching as he coughs between each breaths, fingers shaking as he brings a cigarette between his lips.

"You gonna stand there and watch all night or are you gonna help or what."

"Hn," Heine says. "Still considering my options."

Badou laughs hoarsely. "You're a fucking sadist, you know that?"

"You got what you deserved," Heine says. "A fucking peaceful negotiation. What a load of horse shit."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Badou coughs, and this time, there's blood on his palm. He looks up at Heine and makes a face. "C'mon, help me up. My place is a few blocks away; you can patch me up there."

"I don't know a first thing about first aid kits," Heine reminds him. "Also, I'm going to humiliate you and carry you bridal-style."

"What? The fuck - _Heine_! Put me down you - ass!"

Heine ignores him. "This is your fault. A fucking peaceful negotiation."

"It _was_ peaceful! Right before I got caught anyway - that perverted Bishop's camera's ain't worth no shit, I'm telling you - and ow fucking _ow_ ," Heine's forefinger presses against the bullet wound, making Badou hisses in pain. "Fuck, shit, Heine, don't do that."

"Then stop talking." Heine says lazily. "We're almost there."

A lot of people give them odd looks as they're walking down the street. Badou looks embarrassed but isn't subdued, and he keeps talking and talking and talking until Heine wants to bite his ear off.

_You can leave him here to rot,_ Kerberos suggests. The offer - tempting as it is - is ignored, at least until he no longer carries a bleeding man in his arms. He's pretty sure the picture they make is one befitting of a place in a horror movie.

Badou hasn't stopped complaining about Heine's brand of shampoo all the way, even as they finally reach his building. Heine tunes him out in favour of the stairs, making sure he doesn't misstep or anything equally stupid, when Badou pauses mid-sentence, squints at him beneath his fringe, then asks, "You didn't call anyone, did you?"

"No," Heine replies. Badou nods curtly and tries to reach around for his key. More blood seeps through his clothing. He groans in disgust, and Haine rolls his eyes.

Wordlessly, he puts Badou down until he's standing with his body propped against the wall. Haine's leather jacket is soaked through with blood and tonight's grimes. Huffing in annoyance, Heine leans over, slaps Badou's trembling arms away before shoving his hands down the back pockets of Badou's jeans.

The totally-not-manly squeak coming out of Badou's mouth is worth the trouble.

"You could've warned me first!"

Heine gives him a look. "We're both adults here. If I want to get in your pants, you'd know."

"Still," Badou insists petulantly. "That still constitutes as sexual harassment."

"Weren't you shot?" Heine asks. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be dying instead of being a fucking smartass right now."

"Help me, Obi Wan Heine-kun," Badou faux-swoons. "You're my only hope."

Heine kicks him.

-

Badou doesn't scream after Heine finally pulls out the bullet with a spoon. Simply takes a long drag of his cigarette as he stares down at Heine dully, like they're not in the middle of a life-threatening situation, like he's not presently dying of blood loss.

He does pass out when Heine presses a cauterized kitchen knife to the wound, but still, there is no screaming involved. Heine is a little bit impressed.

-

It's five o'clock in the morning when Badou finally wakes up.

He groans, "Damn, those fucking bastards got me good," tries to sit, fails. "Heine, c'mon, I need to take a bath, I have _work_ in three hours." He repeats the motion several times before Heine gets sick and hefts him up.

"Clearly." Heine says, then jabs at the wound for good measure. Blood soaks through the bandages. Badou makes a face.

"Oi, I know you have this sick love of blood and anything, but can you _not_?" he says.

They stagger toward the direction of the bathroom, Badou bickering incessantly while Heine tries to control his urges to shove his gun down the retard's throat.

"... and the hot water won't be working in, like, half an hour or so, so if you could _kindly_ move faster -"

"Wait, what?"

Badou blinks. "Water's not working so good in my building, remember? I told you all about it last week."

"You told me a lot of shit I don't want to know," Heine says. Badou snorts.

"Well, won't be the first time you're coming home all dirty and shit. Unless you want to wait and have cold bath instead -"

Heine glares and Badou splutters.

"Hey, I ain't sharing another shower with you, man! Once is bad enough -"

"Only because you were being a stupid clumsy idiotic _fuck_ -"

At the end of the argument, Badou has a concussion bad enough he can't walk straight and Heine has a crushed windpipe.

Long story short, this is how they end up having a bath together.

-

"This isn't going to be a thing." Badou clarifies, the third time he and Heine are standing under the same spray, in the same bathroom.

"What's that?" Mihai asks, from the bathtub. When Badou and Heine continue to glare at each other, Mihai leans back, feeling his ribs crack and shift, and tilts his head. "Am I missing something?" and both of them change the direction of their glares at him.

Not _his_ fault that he's injured and thus, is privileged to have the bathtub all for himself.

-

On a Monday, Badou walks into the church, looking worse for wear.

"Help me," is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. "I've got into some deep shit with a guild of assassins."

"You can't stay here," is Ernest's immediate answer, barely a second away after Badou's finished speaking. "Heine's place should be sufficient, I think, for you to cower in. It also has its own excellent guard dog."

Somehow, the Bishop manages not to get himself killed by the knife thrown his wife by blocking it with a Bible.

Badou looks at Heine, a pained expression on his face. "I'll do your laundry."

"No."

He looks like Heine is killing him slowly with a blunt fork.

"I'll buy you coffee every morning until I'm out of your hair, then?" he grits out.

Heine considers this.

"Oh, fucking _fine_ , I'll supply your fucking magazines too, you -"

"Go get your shit," Heine says. "Don't touch my stuff."

-

As it turns out, letting Badou crash in his flat doesn't change much.

It's been six weeks, three days, eleven hours since Badou became his temporary flatmate. Badou is surprised the guild of assassins haven't tried to kill him in his sleep. Everyone is mostly surprised they haven't killed each other yet.

Sure, they still fight and swear and try to kill each other daily, but that's - normal, for them. No one even knows that they're living together, save for Nill and the Bishop.

Nothing changes except the one time Badou comes up to him and says, "I'm bored, you should fuck me," and Heine, without any hesitance whatsoever, does. And then they keep doing it. Over and over and over again.

So. Yeah.

It doesn't change all that much, really.

-

**Author's Note:**

> so. there you go. i hope at least you enjoy it?


End file.
